


Gold and silver

by YouDontNameWhatYouThrowBack



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Historical, Historical References, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Sibling Rivalry, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 21:52:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14627775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouDontNameWhatYouThrowBack/pseuds/YouDontNameWhatYouThrowBack
Summary: Portugal and Spain have an extremely volatile relationship that has not changed much over the years, while the both of them had grown and changed as induviduals their deep rooted rivalry never left.After falling asleep in a world meeting Portugal reminisces upon the past such as his relationship with Spain and how he met England. (Crappy summary sorry)





	Gold and silver

Antonio and João, while brothers, were incredibly different in every aspect of their lives. Someone like Francis or Gilbert might sneer and laugh to even consider the two similar while someone like Arthur would describe them as gold and silver or sun and moon, two similar yet entirely separate beings. They shared a lot, especially when they were younger, they wore the same clothes shared the same bed spoke the same language and ate the same foods, when they were young it was easy for them to say they loved each other.  
They shared a lot in looks too, both had unruly brown hair that curled up at the edges framing their faces like paintings and deep green eyes that were brimming with wonder, both were full with childish vanities and luxuries and even though they lived under the rule of Rome they enjoyed their youths living in the vast expanses and wealth of the Roman empire.  
But as things do they changed, Castile began to grow and was interested in new things and ideas, he was slow but he was also bright, he was nice but he could be suddenly cruel and unforgiving.  
Portugal was the complete opposite, he was as hot headed as the sun in July and could be as cold as a brisk winter chill and found he had grown an inability to show much compassion towards his brother Castile was after all better than him in every way. He figured by this point he was an unwelcomed guest in his brother’s home, just a damper on his brother’s larger than life personality, having broken away to form his own country much earlier than his brother (after the battle of São Mamede in 1128) he had found it particularly hard to pull himself together alone but that didn’t mean that he regretted his decision, oh no becoming independent was the greatest decision of his life. Even the final removal of the Moor’s from his land (1249) filled him with guilt as he watched his brother continue to struggle against the Islamic crusade and influences. Despite all that however, Antonio was still a ray of sunshine, a ray of fucking sunshine.  
Castile had been visiting to update his brother on the reconquering on Hispanic Iberia and it was clear to Portugal that their relationship was strained, Antonio was quiet, reserved around his brother, he had better things to do with his time than entertain his already independent brother. But one day his brother had come back far more excited than her was used to seeing.  
Antonio had a thin white grin stretched over his ashy face, he seemed far healthier than he had been due to all the infighting in his country he was making a scene throwing his arms around him wildly and making excited and breathy noises that reminded João too much of an overactive child. Antonio was a snapshot of youth in every sense of the phrase.  
He ran over to his older brother and sheathed his arms tightly around him throwing him into the air causing Portugal to let out a rather inhuman sound.  
“¡Hermano, Hermano! I have great news!” his eyes were blown wide and starring expectantly up at his brother, the whites of his eyes shimmering slightly with built up tears.  
João tried to force a smile but it was meek and half-arsed, even if he couldn’t see his face he knew his smile was unconvincing and would only trick a fool. Antonio was either dumb or a fool (Portugal wasn’t sure which was worse) as Castile didn’t seem to mind nor care.  
“I realised that I’m in love” That was unexpected, had he been drinking he was certain he would have spat it out, preferably on his brothers stupid face, it would have been more likely to have been knocked flying by Antonio’s early assault anyway.  
“Oh did you now?” he feigned interest deciding to at least acknowledge his brothers sentiments “It’s not me is it, I’ll have to kindly decline irmão as that would be a bit sick” Antonio shock his head slightly, he wanted to at least try and make his brother smile, sure Portugal knew he could be a bit depressing and a tough shit brother but if he put the effort in he could at least say he tried.  
“-and his hair shines like the sun colour and all, his skin is like driven snow, you know what snow looks like right? Oh God you have to meet him!” Castile was speaking rapidly he almost couldn’t understand what he was saying, all the energy that he was exerting seemed to flow into his words distorting them till he almost couldn’t make them out. He figured he was complimenting the person he ‘loved’ on their looks, his blond hair, his pale skin.  
Wait a minute, ‘his’ ‘him, this couldn’t be right, his brother was actually infatuated with another man? What attraction could there possibly be?  
“Wait, wait a minute I don’t understand? Another man?” Antonio registered the confusion and growing alarm in João’s voice.  
“Hermano calm down! It’s not that big a deal honestly” his hands pressed out at his brothers chest keeping him at arms distance, just in case.  
“It is a big deal little brother you want another man!”  
Castile flinched at the harsh tone in Portugal’s voice “I never said I wanted him, who’s to say I’d try anything, I just said I love him that could mean anything!”  
“But you don’t deny the attraction?” he stated taking a step back aghast with horror.  
Antonio sucked in a sharp breath before grinning sheepishly, his mouth began to open and close but he couldn’t form what he wanted to say, his face began to grow red and he looked down at his feet.  
Those beautiful green eyes, green like João’s, disappeared behind thick black lashes.  
“No, I don’t deny it, I cant. You are ashamed of me?” João didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to admit it either. His life was dedicated to his monarch and religion and he was taught that to lie with a man as you do woman is wrong so what his brother wanted was very wrong, these were the same teachings that Antonio had but he didn’t seem to care. However, his religion also told him that he was not in a place to be able to judge others, that judgment was left up to God, who was he to tell Castile anything, João had after all slept with a numerous number of women.  
João’s silence spoke loudly, it spoke all the words he didn’t want to say and Antonio understood, he was embarrassed, he was ashamed of him, he just wouldn’t say it out loud. Antonio wanted to cry, but he knew if he did then João had even more power over him than he already had.  
“You know, it’s cold where he is, it’s always cold, it always raining and it’s always green, I think you’d like it” João groaned, that did sound nice, he was beginning to get a little dizzy from the July heat.  
“Who is he anyway, another one of us?”  
“Near the lowlands yes, quite the travel but believe me it’s worth it” João scowled deeply tossing his glare out the window at the washed out dusty landscape. Portugal sighed knowing there was not much he could do in that moment to change his brother.  
“We have a joint invitation from the French royal family to attend the baptism of the new royal baby, should you like to come he’ll be there and you can meet him?” Castile suggested openly, gauging his brother’s reaction.  
Portugal sighed heavily and shrugged his shoulders dismissively, “Sure, I’m not doing much else right now anyway”  
“Really? Then maybe you can help me kick out the Moors”  
“Hahaha not on your life” he smiled bitterly. Castile’s face twisted with the rejection but he brushed it off.  
“Well then I’ll try not to be too offended that you’d rather go to a baptism than help me” Castile laughed drawling off into a small unhappy groan, “But anyway, the celebration is next month, to get there with reasonable time we should leave next weekend”  
Portugal rolled his eyes “Okay” this was going to be a long journey.

 

Now, Portugal knew the journey would be long, but holy shit, he knew the journey would be tiring but he didn’t know how infuriating it would also be.  
He and Antonio travelled by horseback the entire journey, staying from inn to inn, which was not only expensive but incredibly nerve wrecking. He didn’t doubt the legitimacy of the establishment but he’d be lying if he enjoyed listening to the sounds of harlots making loud raucous noises in the rooms next to his, or the sounds of the horses outside, the only thing that kept him sane in these nights was ironically his brother’s light snoring, he just liked remembering that he was there and that he wasn’t alone in a strange place.  
One night, Castile had had a night terror and climbed into Portugal’s arms in the early morning, there had was something nice about his brother asking to share the same bed as him, it reminded him of when they were young and they’d sleep on the grassy banks of Rome.  
Inn hoping was not something he enjoyed, and the off the chart roads that Antonio was oh so sure led to France had not helped his nerves, he could only think of the possible bandits and worse yet Moors who might be lurking along the dirt paths through the woods.  
Luckily they arrived without incident (other than Castile was sent flying into a lake when his horse kicked him off causing him to lose all his money to the murky depths of the water) and were immediately greeted by a smug looking France.  
“I see you made it Antonio, I wasn’t sure you would when I heard you were travelling with your brother, I was certain he’d strangle you with your belt” bastard, what did France know about him.  
Portugal and Castile had made themselves comfortable in one of the castles many chambers, there were two beds, one clearly bigger than the other, France is an asshole he had thought to himself placing his belongings in a grand chest that sat at the edge of the larger bed. Some French maids busied themselves with finishing the beds and draperies of the room giving Portugal ample time to eye them over winking when one of them noticed causing her to burst into a chorus of giggles.  
“French women are so easy” he had said out loud after the women had left not before throwing a sultry look over their shoulders at the brothers.  
“That’s not kind Portugal, I’m sure there unused to southern guests and are a little curious”  
“I’ll sate any curiosities” Antonio scowled at his brothers uncouth attitude before shaking his head and turning away.  
“Seriously” he huffs in disdain.  
“So when shall I meet this little child of the stars then?”  
“You mean Arthur?”  
“No I meant the royal baby that I could give less of a shit about, yes I mean Arthur” Portugal’s face was stoic as his brother scoffed in annoyance “Also you’ve never told me his name before”  
“It probably skipped my mind, I don’t think you care all that much anyway” Castile turned his back on his brother, Portugal let out a bark of laughter throwing himself on the freshly laid bed allowing his body to sink into the folds of wool and linen and was that silk oh boy he was being spoiled!  
“Look Castile it’s silk, real silk, we’re like royalty” he jeered holding the fine material in his hands and letting it run and ripple like water.  
A small hearty laugh came from his brother, his head snapped to see a sweet smile gracing his brothers chapped lips “You look just like a child right now” Portugal blushed slightly before straightening the sheets.  
“You didn’t answer my question, when will he be here?”  
“He’s arriving tomorrow morning, he will go straight to entertain the king and queen before joining the celebrations in the great hall”  
Portugal lay back on the bed closing his eyes, “You will be sure to be kind to him won’t you, he’s been through a lot recently” Portugal scoffed, “Haven’t we all”  
Antonio turned his nose up “Yes, well, keep your unsavoury attitudes to yourself” Antonio ducked as a pillow came hurtling towards him “Careful these aren’t ours to break” Portugal grinned wickedly “I know, don’t test me and I won’t break them, I’ll be kind to your play thing don’t you worry” Antonio threw the pillow back at him.

The next day came soon enough.  
Portugal looked out above the French court, coloured in decorative flags, standards, banners and pennants, strange decorations rippled along the cold brick walls while strange lights danced through stained glass windows illuminating the gleaming face of the new born infant and shimmering on the grey cobble floor. Servants dressed in dull browns and blues bustles and rushed about offering wine and food to the esteemed guests of the court.  
The French royals were busy playing friendly with their European neighbours, which included Portugal and Castile, they had handed them small gifts of flowers as well as frankincense, myrrh and gold coins as a symbol of their solidarity with the catholic kingdoms against the Moorish. Portugal had happily accepted the small tokens with gratitude while Castile had gone off on a tangent about how it seemed an inappropriate and blasphemous gift to bequeath them.  
Some of the European nations around them Portugal had never met, there was a chirpy girl speaking broken Latin to her brother, initially he had assumed this was England but on closer inspection he could see her developing breasts, ‘definitely not my type’ he leered.  
She was caught up in his brother’s charm, she was clearly enamoured and trying a little too hard to vie for his attention, pressing her shoulders together to bring focus to her small breasts. Though Antonio, being an oblivious love stricken fool was too naïve to notice her blatantly forward advances.  
‘Harlot’ João thought as her face creased with annoyance, her forehead wrinkling agedly, she realised Antonio’s attention was elsewhere his eyes were scanning the sea of pale faces until they found what they had been searching for and what he’d been waiting to see since they set off from Lisbon.  
“Oi, Albion! Over here!” his hand waved frantically in the air, João couldn’t see the person who he was waving at but suddenly he found himself growing curious, he knew of Albion, it was the name for the Britannic Island’s to the north, he knew of Cambria, Hibernia and Caledonia so by default this Arthur must be one of them.  
The blonde girl from before was whining at Antonio, pulling at his sleeves and João couldn’t help but snicker when his brother pushed her away not even turning his gaze away from the figure making their way through the crowd. The stroppy girl stomped off to find her pleasure elsewhere a new blond emerged from the crowded corner and approached Antonio taking the girls place.  
An ear-splitting grin and light blush broke out on Antonio’s face as he addressed his new company, this Albion who he had heard tales about from the northerners and his brother was a small boy who was rather feeble looking, there was something not right about this picture, Portugal had assumed he’d be a bit taller, and muscular, this was growing stranger and he felt his resolve to keep his promise to his brother crumble.  
Speak of the devil, Antonio had turned to him and was beckoning him over “Hermano, come see! This is England”  
João sighed and began making his way over to the pair taking the space at his brother’s side. His eyes fell on the face of the small blond in front of him and - God strike him down he had never seen such a beautiful face!  
It was like it was chiselled by some masterful sculptor of Greece of Rome, Praxiteles or something, a face akin to that of Venus soft and round with soft unscarred skin. His nose was small and straight and his skin was possibly the palest he had ever seen and had a yellowish undertone, his ears were poking out slightly from small tussles of neatly kept blond hair, his white throat (somehow whiter than his face) was inviting and unscarred, in fact his skin was barren of scars by at least what he could see and if he was offered he would gladly see more. His eyes were two fields of green that shone lightly in the low light of the room and he could see that they were taking him in the same way he was taking him in though he doubted that Arthur was having as momentous a reaction as him.  
Arthur was wearing a royal dark blue tunic with a strange gold embellishment along the helm, his legs were covered in a pair of ill-fitting white braies cutting off at his mid-calf showing his thin legs covered by a pair of pale blue stockings with thin leather soles on the bottom to avoid the need for the luxury of shoes.  
“Him he’s my hermano, how you say- urm brother?” what a strange language, it was like Latin but also wasn’t, it wasn’t displeasing to the ear but it was also hard to keep up it was very fast.  
Castile was making an effort to speak this boy’s language, now that’s real sweet, it almost made him feel bad for being attracted to him, almost. So he was trying to impress him by speaking a language he hardly knew, Portugal had to stop himself laughing at how silly he sounded.  
Portugal was confused as to why the beautiful child in front of him laughed though even smiling sweetly up at his brother.  
“You don’t have to force yourself, hello my names England, I take it you’re Portugal I’ve heard a lot about you your brother holds you in extremely high regards” that accent was so strange but also alluring and captivating, and he spoke fluent Latin, much cleaner than that earlier whore. Portugal realised he hadn’t responded and was just starring dumbly at Arthur’s face which was glowing slightly red under his heated gaze “Oh, yes that’s me – wait Castile you speak of me?” he grew suspicious, he probably didn’t speak of him favourably that would make more sense.  
“Y-yes, on occasion, when England asks of you” he felt his heart flutter, he didn’t even know him and he was still interested in hearing stories about him how cute.  
“We bonded on our rivalries with our brothers” there it was the bitter truth, Portugal starred with a sardonic smile at his younger brother who tried to shrink away with an awkward smile.  
“Did you now, you have brothers?” he turned his attention back to the blond willing to cut his brother out of the conversation.  
Arthur rolled his beautiful eyes towards the window “Yes but I wouldn’t say we’re on the greatest terms but that seems to be a common theme for people like us, but I appreciate that I owe them a lot” he trailed off thoughtfully.  
Portugal nodded in agreement as his eyes fell on Castile, he was starring longingly into England’s youthful face, he seemed entirely oblivious to the turmoil he was causing to both men.  
“So that’s the boy you love huh” João said as watching Arthur’s back disappear into the crowd to find Francis.  
“Yeah, what do you think of him” Antonio cocked his head.  
João thought carefully for a minute, then he thought about that sweet smile and lively eyes and foreign tongue, he wondered what else that tongue could do.  
A chuckle bubbled in his chest and he turned to face his brother “I like him too”, Antonio grinned.

Now he’d already said it but he’d say it again, France is an asshole, he wasn’t just an asshole but he was a fucking cunt.  
Somehow the French had managed to underprepare guest rooms in the castle which was short on three guest bedrooms, including a bedroom short for Arthur who was one of the three English guests without rooms.  
‘You did that on purpose’ João wanted to say, but he didn’t want to stir anything with Francis so kept his opinions to himself, watching from an upstairs window as Arthur frantically ran around the gardens searching for someone he could share a room with, perhaps one of his duchesses who had all remarkably been given grand warm rooms. João felt pity bubbling in his stomach as he watched the boy crouch down by a tree and begin to cry.  
This whole infatuation thing was amusing at first but it was getting annoying real fast. He could admit the boy was attractive that much he’d allow himself, but his impure thoughts and sexual interest was getting too far out of hand. He thought at first he might have been playing some sick game to finally one up his brother but now he realised quite quickly that it might run a bit deeper than that.  
He continued watching with a disgruntled look, growling when a pair of aristocrats passed him by and laughed, they laughed at him, that was too cruel.  
He ran quickly down the stairs his breathing coming out in uneven bouts, his footsteps rung loud in the empty halls and he actually had to catch himself to stop from slipping down the worn staircase, he wasn’t exactly in the clearest mind for thinking logically so even after his near death experience he continued skipping two steps at a time until he came to an open door which opened out into the wooded garden. He stopped only once he could see Arthur’s small crouched form in front of him and he came to a halt just in earshot of Arthur’s weak sobs.  
He realised that he had no idea what he was going to say, he didn’t even know him, he doubted he’d even want João to see him when he was crouched and crying like that, for the first time in a while Portugal was unsure of himself and it made him feel nervous he was a pretty assertive guy and even when wrong would still proclaim himself to be right. He didn’t even know why he had run down to meet him it must have been because that couple had teased him but he wasn’t too sure as to why he cared, God there he went again about being unsure he was certainly going crazy.  
Even after standing there for a minute he could still hear his heart hammering in his ears and could feel every ounce of blood coursing in his veins, he wasn’t out of breath but he couldn’t breathe properly, it had to be the heat or something that’s right.  
“Portugal?” João felt a familiar pity rear inside him, the things he felt for this man, adoration, compassion, attraction it was all starting to get to him. So he didn’t think twice about offering to share his bed with the blond, if anything he was all too excited for it. He watched those beautiful eyes widen in momentary shock contemplating the offer.  
“Are you sure I won’t be a bother” he mumbled into his hands as he attempted to wipe away the tears,  
“I’m perfectly assured, here” he leant in moving England’s hands away from his face and kissing the tears away before kissing his wet eyelids. Portugal pulled back quickly the reality of what he just did hitting him like brick. Arthur looked up with him, his still wet eyes brimming with curiosity “What was that for?” he asked, shit, shit, shit what was that for “It’s a cultural thing” João responded certainly trying not to appear too uneasy, he then reached up to wipe away any remaining tears.  
Antonio had found them later, with João wiping away hot tears from Arthur’s face.  
Antonio was pleasantly surprised to hear his brother being so compassionate towards the other nation.  
João would be lying if he didn’t admit to feeling a little smug to see the dejected look on Antonio’s when Arthur said he’d be sharing a bed with João, however his smugness was short lived when nightfall came.

João lay still beneath the covers listening to his brothers light snoring across the room for what felt like the millionth time that month. It was early morning and all of them should be asleep, but João wasn’t, he couldn’t, he just couldn’t focus on sleeping as strange as that sounded, sleeping didn’t constitute doing anything but he was all too focused on the small body that was rubbing against his back.  
João tried to control his breathing, or think about his home just anything, anything to take his mind of off the soft body behind him. He held back a groan as he felt that small boy press into him sending a shiver of delight down his spine, he hated this situation he’d gotten himself into, he should never of come to France he knew it was a bad idea, the whole journey was fraught with disaster and error from the outset.  
Every movement that came from behind him sent that same jolt up and down his spine, he was so on edge he could feel every movement of muscle in the back that was against his. Arthur was mumbling incoherent sentences into his arms as he tossed and turned causing João to slip back slightly every time the bed dipped bringing the two of them closer.  
João hated this, everything about this was wrong, João looked over his shoulder to see if Arthur was asleep, he could see his blond hair framed in a halo of blue moonlight that shone through window onto their bed. He could see the silhouette of his face and just about make out Arthur’s delicate features, his lips were slightly parted and full from his biting at them.  
João shifted to get out of bed deciding he needed a walk and in the process pulled the sheets off Arthur much to his discontent, a long whine came from his bed partner and a white hand shot out from beneath the covers to pull at João making him fall back into the bed.  
Portugal was now in a new predicament, his arm was in a tight grip held close to England’s chest, the latter letting out a content sigh at the new bodily warmth, Portugal’s now commandeered hand was pressed against Arthur’s exposed pelvis a little too close to his dick, he could feel the dip of his abdomen and the twitch of skin beneath his touch.  
Portugal pulled at his hair to stop himself from shouting, how could someone be this perfect?! He bit on his fingers as his eyes traced over the outline of England’s body beneath the silk sheet, maybe he could hold out until morning and then he could ask his brother to kindly offer Arthur his bed to save him from this torture.  
He ran his knuckles from his occupied hand over Arthur’s soft skin and just as he thought it would be it was soft and cold as marble. Arthur let out another small sigh at the contact causing João to chuckle, he decided to test his luck and moved his free hand to tug and play with Arthur’s hair, it was rare for him to see such hair colour. His fingers buried themselves into his hair till he couldn’t see them and his thumb ran over his forehead tracing small circles over and over before running down and caressing his cheek. England let out a soft moan at the others ministrations and unconsciously pushed his head into the others hands, his pink lips resting in João’s palm laying and small kiss there.  
João cried in defeat, he could not leave the bed when there was an angel there that so desperately wanted his body (even if it was a sleep-driven action).  
He lifted himself back into the bed once more being overcome with the overbearing heat of the constricting blankets, but somehow even in the uncomfortable heat and the need coursing through his veins being there with England felt right, he felt calmed just from his touch, the frenzied emotions and anxiety of the day were all but forgotten by his small touch and kiss.  
Bathed in the evening glow, Portugal felt overcome with a violent possessive passion. He could feel England’s coy arms sliding around his waist to pull him closer to him, head pushing and nuzzling at his sweating chest, as Arthur slept in wordless beauty João silently watched him in wonder as the sun began to rise over the haze of the leaves. And even from that small corner of France, where two nations met idly in a cold court room neither knowing what the future held for them both somehow João was certain that his life would grow to be so much greater and more colourful now that Arthur was in it.  
Portugal leant in, his heart beating so hard he swore it would break his ribs, his lips were swollen and red from blood rush and he couldn’t think of one good reason not to kiss him. But he hesitated, this was wrong, he reserved himself to kissing his forehead instead. 

 

The second time they met was some 1347, João was visiting Arthur in hopes of bettering their relationship, João remembered everything about his stay he remembered the way the grass smelt he remembered the unpredictable weather that kept them mostly house bound and he remembered the way that England so beautifully read his poems to him and only him in front of the comfort of a fire, even if he didn’t really understand what Arthur was saying he enjoyed every moment he spent with him.  
Though Arthur bitched and moaned about the weather constantly in his letters João was surprised and enamoured with how far from the truth Arthur was, the clouds that overcast the skies were different to the clouds in Portugal, they stretched for miles and miles they felt never ending, it was as though they were suspended from heaven itself and while Arthur could equate them with nothing but miserable weather (aka rain) João found fascination in what they could possibly be hiding in them.  
“A castle maybe, perhaps even a country of their own” his eyes wide with child-like fanatical curiosity, Arthur had laughed at him when he said that “Don’t be daft they’re just clouds” they weren’t just clouds though, they were England’s clouds.  
The next thing that caught his interest (again much to England’s own curiosity) was the rain, as clouds clashed and swirled into violent greys and blues overhead João could only watch from the arching windows as torrents of cold slick rain dribbled down the chilled glass. When the rain was distant and the clouds had drifted away João would remark on how the landscape was blessed by the heavens and everything was aglow with the possibilities of new life, the earthly greens and browns intrigued and enthralled Portugal, he was endlessly fascinated by all of England’s extremities and he was no longer ashamed to admit it, “It’s just rain” England had said not even turning from his book, “True,” he replied “But it fell on you”.  
They had been staying at Arthur’s London residence on the outside of London, pastural fields and greenery was in abundance much to João’s joy. They had spent most of their time clothed in sheep’s wool and huddled in the front room around a roaring fire as the weather waged war against them from outside, perhaps coming in late September wasn’t the wisest decision.  
Days later Arthur was set to visit Penshurst palace, the palace belonged to a guy called John de Pulteney and Arthur had been meeting with the merchant to discuss trading and tariffs, João really could care less about trading and what not it was all boring and new age anyway, all he cared about was that he was with Arthur and that Arthur was with him, he just wished to indulge himself in his long curious silences and kind presence.  
Arthur would lose himself in his reading and he’d start to read the text aloud, and he would read the most boring books as though he were reading an uplifting sonnet or sermon his mouth twitched into an upturned smile as the words were muttered silently on his breath.  
As much as João loved the rain especially considering he was not exactly the wettest of nations he was praying every night to have one day with sun, he would love to see the blond country showered in sunlight rather than rain.  
That wish came true for the next day the sun was shining, the clouds were white and scarce and the weather was still chilled even though the sun was out, it was for lack of a better term a beautiful day. Arthur, tired from the bickering and arguing with the merchant didn’t want to stray too far from the palace grounds suggesting that they instead just wander the gardens. So they stayed inside the walls proximities but the garden itself was not small and was filled with a wonderous world of its own, primroses, violets and lavender were in bloom even this late in the year and roses were in full bloom also “That’s so strange!” João jeered inhaling the flowers.  
Arthur laughed (he’d been doing that a lot recently) as he watched João bound around the garden taking in all the different flowers, he looked so young right then. João was nothing at all like Arthur had pictured him to be he was very similar to his brother even if neither would admit it, they both looked hauntingly similar and both were loud while being a bit dim too but when both brothers were in the same room together they would become extremely critical of everything the other did and would become ferociously competitive over the littlest things.  
From the amount Antonio complained about his brother he was surprisingly pleasant and interesting to talk to but not only that Arthur noticed the way João looked at him when he was speaking he was always keenly listening, he was listening to someone like him, someone as boring as him. He felt very appreciated by his Portuguese friend.  
The two spent their time strolling the gardens making light chat here and there, mostly the chat was bitching about France and his seemingly never ending war with England.  
“And then he had the balls to – as I was turned around lob this fucking huge ass rock at my head and it really hurt too” Arthur rubbed the sore spot on his head he could almost feel the impact as he remembered the experience.  
“So, what did you do?”  
“What I had to do, I stabbed him in the foot” England puffed his chest up higher at the memory of France hopping away clutching desperately at his bleeding foot a string of profanities falling not so beautifully from his lips.  
“Somehow, I find that very easy to believe” he smiled widely at his friend  
The two found themselves sitting below a tall stone wall looking over the garden and into the house, they could see some women running around possibly looking for a runaway child or something. Even though the sun was out there was a brisk chill in the air causing João to shudder violently pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around himself.  
“Are you cold” he heard Arthur ask kindly beside him.  
“A little but it’s fine, a little cold doesn’t bother anyone”  
England studied his friend before letting out a slight wheeze, Portugal could see England moving out the corner of his eye but didn’t turn to him.  
He felt to thin arms wrapping around his tensed shoulders and a sudden warmth envelop his back and arms, his breath hitched as he felt Arthur’s breath against his neck as Arthur finished laying the coat across their shoulders. England then (much to João’s delight) wrapped his arm around Portugal’s waist pulling him closer to his body and resting his head on others shoulder.  
Portugal didn’t know how long he stopped breathing but when he finally remembered how to breathe he had to take a long-controlled breath to make sure he didn’t cry out. He could feel Arthur’s hair pressing against his bare neck and ear he swore he could even hear Arthur’s heart beating in that small frail chest. Portugal buried his face in his knees to hide his growing blush, he starred awkwardly out in front of him trying to appreciate the scenery but in reality all he could focus on was how perfect England fit against his body, how safe he felt just to be here in his company and how genuinely loved he felt.  
“England you didn’t have to do that”  
“I know but you were cold, and I don’t want you to be ill that would suck plus how would we spend time together if you’re bedridden?” Arthur smiled up at him, all the João could do was smile back ignoring the small voice in his mind telling him to kiss him.  
“You’re right that wouldn’t be good” Portugal swallowed the lump in his throat and decided to make the most out of his situation curling up tighter and leaning his head against England as the blond began to complain about a drop of rain he felt on his face.

 

June 1509, it was sunny that day,  
He wanted to smile, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to be happy for them, but he couldn’t.  
He watched people bustle past him excitedly, it reminded him all too much of the first time he met him in the French court, except this time it was an English one, and Catherine was marrying Henry, and that meant that England and Spain would be in union, he had missed his chance.  
It was taking everything in him not to scream, his brother had successfully won the heart of the man he loved and he didn’t even have to try, he was happy for him at least he’d tell him he was happy. Portugal felt his eyes burning for the third time that afternoon, hastily he wiped away any threatening tears, anything that would undermine him and give him away, no he was happy, if not for Antonio then for Arthur. Arthur was smiling, grinning, he was laughing, he hadn’t heard him laugh like that in years. Portugal could feel his nails digging into the skin on his arm, it was all he could do to stop himself from crying when he saw his brother steal a quick kiss from Arthur leaving the latter sputtering and tripping over his words.  
It felt like his brother was doing this on purpose by making a scene he didn’t have to kiss him so openly, he didn’t have to hold him by his waist and yet he was, once or twice he’d caught Antonio starring over at him and the faint trace of a smirk crossed his lips as he saw his João’s red rimmed eyes and deep-set scowl, if only he could feel the break of his heart.  
The way those eyes set upon him and looked through him set João on edge, Antonio was being malicious for no reason eyes burying themselves into him until all he could see every time he blinked was those green eyes, green as his own, starring at him, mocking him, ‘I won, I won, I won’.  
‘I’m happy for you, I am, truly’ he practiced in his head, but he wasn’t even convincing himself.  
He needed some air he needed to calm down, or maybe he needed to cry away from everyone else away from his brother and England, João snuck over to the door and as soon as he was out he set a brisk fast pace. It wasn’t long before he was running and not long after that he was certain he was crying, he could feel his face heating and his vision became blurred, he wasn’t too sure where he was going (partly because he couldn’t see) or how long he would be gone, he just needed to be away from everyone.  
João turned into a small room on the right hand side of the corridor quickly knocking open the beautifully carved door not too bothered about what room it was. The door snagged on the carpet behind the door blocking it from opening any further and causing João to stab his gut into the brass handle and topple over rather unceremoniously onto the dyed red fur of the rug.  
For a while he just lay there allowing his tears to run into the maroon rug as he blissfully ignored the passing of time all too focused on the throbbing pain in his gut as well as his heart. His chest heaved painfully struggling with the effort of lifting his heavy heart as he moved to sit up.  
Pushing himself up against a chair he found his knees were weak and locked up so he resigned himself to sitting in the chair that he had used to pull himself.  
“For the love of God pull yourself together it’s not like he’s dying or anything” João mumbled to himself leaning on the small wooden table in front of him, he couldn’t help that he was upset though, he was so certain that England loved him the amount he invited him over and confessed everything going on in his life, the amount of times the two of them had found themselves in bed together sometimes with the help of alcohol most times not.  
The first time they had sex he had walked in on England sobbing his heart out and crying to Portugal his arms outstretched and in need of comfort, and Portugal, poor love-struck Portugal, all too keen and all too willing to help sat in bed with him holding him as he cried heavily into his shoulder.  
Very quickly words morphed into little gasps and moans as João found himself being kissed by those red lips and bit by those pearly teeth, and then he was being touched by those beautiful hands that felt over his body dipping beneath his shirt and then his trousers as if they owned him, and if he were being honest he did own him, he’d give everything he had to England if he asked him too.  
But he never asked Portugal for anything he only took from him, but he feigned ignorance because he loved him even though he knew England was in love with his brother. So, he allowed himself to be used, to be fucked by Arthur whenever he decided that he was done with talking about his feelings, because he just wanted Arthur to be happy.  
Portugal looked around the room he had stumbled in, wiping away the bitter memory of England crying.  
It was a small library of sorts with rows of mahogany shelves decorated with the bent-out spines of read books, books ranging from philosophy, Bibles with a selection of different languages, botany, poetry and rather dully a book on fishing and different types of fish. Portugal felt his cheeks stiffen as he smiled up at the books illuminated by the afternoon sun falling through the window as he recognised the copy of La Celestina that he had gifted Arthur three years ago on a visit.  
‘You couldn’t find a copy in English? Or even Latin’ João couldn’t help but smile tenderly at the image of Arthur’s scowling face when he saw the book was in Spanish, that smile only widened as he removed the book from the shelf and saw a small blue book mark poking out from a three quarters way through.  
Carefully Portugal placed the book back knowing very well that England had a strict code when it came to the organisation of his books having fallen prey to the Englishman’s temper when he had accidentally left a copy of The Iliad out in the garden in direct sun ‘You’ll ruin it you dolt’ he had shouted parading down the garden throwing a fit as he inspected the spine only calming when he saw the book was unharmed by the sun, it was the only time Arthur had ever yelled at him and João intended it to be the only time.  
Portugal continued to survey the books finding it had done a good job in distracting him from all the festivities going on around him, his fingers trailed lightly over the variety of coloured spines stopping on a botany book.  
Flicking quickly through the pages he found a pressed Lavender stem next to a thin sickly looking white rose, the roses petals were translucent and the edges were a strange discoloured yellow the stem (which had been picked clean of prickles) was also browning, the leaves lay scattered about the body of the rose.  
“Best not mess with that it’s probably there for a reason” Portugal thought out loud the previous shouts of Arthur still lingering in his mind as he put the book back into its alphabetised spot.  
The next book that João happened upon was surprising, it was a small brown bound journal with gold gilding around the edges, it was bound in a thin leather skin wrap and had an ink pen strapped firmly to the spine. Pulling back the skin he felt his face begin to flush in hurt, it was Antonio’s journal, one he’d take on him whenever he’d journey anywhere new and it was here in England’s library or study or whatever it was.  
‘He loves this book, he must trust you a lot’ Port thought ruffling the hair on the back of his head in thought, should he open it? He felt this was more a breach of privacy than routing through Arthur’s books, after all this was instead a private journal.  
“To hell with it, I’ll just repent or something” João joked.  
He opened the taut bindings and slowly begun making his way through the journal which was feeling more like something that should be in possession of a merchant or an accountant with the amount of financial statistics. It was filled with transactions and trade deal finalities as well as manifestos of stolen and looted goods, gold, silver, ivory, tobacco, crafting goods and treasures from the new world that would likely be thrown away in an instant as soon as they got back to Europe.  
Every so often there was a small drawing of someone he knew (France, the Italian boys as well as some Asian countries) or a diary entry discussing his thoughts and feelings though they were few and far in between, ‘today we were attacked by three Ottoman gunships, now there’s holes in the sails who knows how long it will take to sail back to Barcelona now!’ João silently cheered the Ottoman’s for causing a little hell for Castile.  
‘Portugal won’t keep me updated on what’s going on with the search for a new way to India, I want some fresh spices’ it was scribbled out but João could just about make out ‘how unfair of them to cut you off from the spice trade’ the hugely sarcastic undertones meant Arthur had probably written that, though from the looks of it Antonio had tried to hide it. Portugal could almost see the smirk that would have graced England’s lips as he wrote that, knowing it would annoy Castile.  
Portugal found he was smiling wider than before and more genuinely now, he felt far more relaxed than he had been ten minutes ago and with a devious thought Portugal found himself turning to the next page with renewed interest ‘I wonder if there’s anything embarrassing in here’ he thought dryly.

‘I want to tell you how I feel, I want to show you so many things but it’s hard, I love you, I want to show that I do but… it’s just hard’ well suddenly he felt he was reading a pre-teen diary of some star-crossed lover, he didn’t know Antonio was so emotionally stunted as to not be able to talk about his feelings, maybe it was a pride thing?  
The conversation continued but this time it was different handwriting.  
‘Of course I know, I know you mean well and I know it’s hard to be open and honest, but I want you to talk to me I don’t want you to feel that I don’t care when I do. More-so than you seem to think may I add’  
‘I wish you’d tell me you love me more’  
‘I wish you’d come over more’  
‘I come over every other month don’t I?’  
‘Hmmm that you do I suppose, you could always stay here’  
‘You know I can’t’  
‘I also know you would if you could’  
‘You’re right there’s nowhere else I’d rather be’ Arthur didn’t write a response to that last one, João supposed he didn’t really need to.  
‘You never said you love me’  
‘I don’t need to remind you of something I feel’  
‘It’s comforting just to hear it’ it really was like he was reading a note being passed between sarcastic little girls it almost took all of the meaning out of the situation.  
‘Do you not believe me?’  
‘I want to yes’  
‘Do you trust me?’  
‘With my life’ it was starting to feel a little too raw, something about reading a private conversation between two lovers felt very perverse to João, he came very close to closing the book deciding instead to just read on, he was almost at the end.  
‘England I trust you, so please be honest with me, do you think I’m good?’  
‘What do you mean good?’  
‘I mean, am I a good person, do I make you happy, all I want is that for you to be happy it’s all I live for, and I don’t know if I’m good enough to do that’  
‘Antonio, am I good enough for you?’  
‘A million times yes!’  
‘Then know that I am only speaking the truth, surely you must know you’re lovely everyone thinks, no knows you are, you’re kind and beautiful to all those around you even those who do you wrong, it’s rather envious. Honestly, I don’t understand why you’d love someone like me but I know you do and I know you’re heart is true, so yes to answer plainly you are good and you make me happy, though who really cares about that’  
‘I DO!’ Antonio had written in all capitals, there was no more conversion between the two until the next page where in brown ink there was written plain –  
‘I love you, and I always will’  
It was Arthur’s neat handwriting and every letter tore straight through João’s heart once more, there were dried tear stains over the page from what he could only assume had been his brother’s emotional reaction.  
Arthur truly loved Antonio, Antonio deeply and undeniably loved Arthur.

‘I just want you to know that you are my world’  
‘And you are mine Antonio, I love you!”

Portugal closed the book quickly saving it from being ruined by his own tears the pain renewed in his chest and the world around him begun to sway sickeningly.  
A small knock came from the door drawing Portugal’s attention away from the small book still in his hands.  
“Hermano you in there?” Shit it was Antonio, he hastily shoved the book back on the shelf not caring too much where it went (Antonio would probably take the heat for it later).  
“Sim! Sim, I’m here” Antonio shyly made his way into the room pouting lightly as the carpet once more prohibited the door from being fully opened.  
“How are you? You ran off without saying a word I was worried you’d somehow hurt yourself” Antonio smiled sheepishly hands folded in front of his stomach, he was uneasy João could tell.  
“I’m fine” Castile winced at the harshness in his brother’s voice.  
“Well you sure as hell don’t seem to be” he chided, he wasn’t lying Portugal’s eyes were puffy and red with tears which he hadn’t wiped away, his hair was slightly messed and his face was pale and deathly.  
“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, I’m probably the last person in the world that you want to talk to about how you feel,” Antonio laughed nervously rubbing the back of his head “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay is all, when you’re ready feel free to come back and join us it sad that you’re sad when it’s a happy time” Yes it was a happy time, he was meant to be happy for the both of them neither England nor Castile deserved João being bitter towards them.  
Antonio meant him no ill, João simply read into things too much, he probably didn’t even know of Portugal’s love for the snooty Englishman so he wasn’t to blame.  
Portugal sighed, he jumped too quickly to a conclusion about his brother’s earlier actions, maybe he was just trying to show him that he was happy and that a depressing João should be smiling and happy too. While he couldn’t force himself to be happy or comfortable with the situation he could learn to accept it, England’s happiness came before his.  
Portugal began to collect himself smoothing back his hair and releasing a long calming breath, he seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He would be happy for them, he would make himself happy after all he wasn’t losing England.  
“You’re right I don’t really want to talk to you about how a feel” he chided at Antonio’s scrunched up face, “So let’s drop it and go back downstairs, those little tarts that were being served were so good!” Portugal joked slinging his arm around his brother’s tense shoulders “Yeah they are actually edible”.  
As the brothers made their way down the hallway and back to the ballroom Portugal stopped just short from the doors causing Castile to worry his brother would do another runner.  
“What’s wrong you’re not getting upset again are you?”  
Portugal shook his head lowly suddenly finding speech incredibly difficult “No it’s not that”  
Antonio tilted his head curiously “Oh then what is it?”  
Portugal thought for a second before tilting his head up he could see England laughing with a lady in red, a small smile came to his lips and his eyes creased at the edges, his shoulders raised slightly as he took a deep breath and fell when he released it “I’m happy for you”  
Antonio felt a smile on his own face as he heard the kind words coming from his brother, his heart warmed at the sincere smile on his face and the way his eyes narrowed with the smile.  
“Te amo hermano” he grinned back before leading the way back to the ballroom.

 

*  
2018

Portugal yawned as he snapped out of his daydream, he had been reminiscing again and had missed most of the two hour lecture which he was sure was 'invigorating'.  
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he decided to at least try and pay attention to the last half an hour but these plans fell immediately when he looked up and grinned, watching in amusement at the beginnings of chaos.  
He covered his mouth to hide his smirk as the meeting then inevitably descended into a small war. This time everyone was arguing over Israeli interventionism in Palestine.  
“And those fucking Iranians trying to start shit with me as well!” he heard someone yell, where had that come from?  
“Fuck off Bulgaria no one seriously cares what you think!”  
“Do you think that Belarus or America would win in an arm wrestle?”  
“What kind of shit are you thinking off?”  
“Do you think it’s possibly for a nation to retire I’m sick of this shit”  
“There are so many people that I want to smack right now”  
“If I kill myself will this suffering end”  
“Don’t say something like that”  
“Oh my God why is there soy in this cappuccino what Satanist did this!”  
Portugal watched England desperately trying to calm the people around him with little help, the squabbling morphing from politics to personal quarrels as they always did.  
Germany quickly brought in the reins, deciding to adjourn the meeting before any blood was split, the only person injured in it all was Romano who had been repeatedly slamming his head into the table much to Spain’s dismay.  
England caught Portugal’s gaze from across the room glad to see the man was no longer starring absently into space. Port moved his hand to show his wide smirk and England returned it with a small smile, no matter how much he got on his nerves or how low his attention span was in these meetings he could never be angry with Portugal, it was impossible.  
With everything they’d been through since they first met it was safe to say that they were soul mates, or at the very least soul best friends, with the treaty of Windsor in 1386 and the long summers that they’d spend together at each-others houses, and how England taught Portugal how to fight against Spain to keep his independence from him (how well did that work eh?) and all their misadventures in the new world that would always lead to them somehow fighting for their lives.  
When Lisbon fell in November 1755 it was England who had nursed him back to health, somehow he and Spain managed to share the house for a week without ripping each other apart. England had made him bowls of scalding hot soup with strange otherworldly tastes in those long painful days, and even though the soup was hideous he had stomached it so that he could see England smile at him, that was a far better medicine.  
He remembered his brother seething with jealousy when he walked in on England holding Portugal’s hand in comfort and holding his body close as he kissed his pained head, Portugal’s smirk widened at that little memory.  
England must have somehow read Portugal’s mind because he flushed and shook his head in distaste, he and England were after all on a similar wavelength and could easily read into the others thoughts and feelings.  
“Hey baixinho you want to grab something to eat I’ll pay!” Portugal grinned at England as the other neatly collected his notes from the lecture, countries were slowly filtering out the room around them.  
“That sounds nice, you owe me anyway”  
Portugal scoffed “What do I owe you?”  
England raised an eyebrow “Because I picked you up from the bar remember? The bar man the poor soul had to call me to collect your sorry ass, I paid the tab because you were too shitfaced to remember your own pin! I put you up for the night I even gave you my bed and on top of it all my name on your phone is 'feijão pequeno inglês’ which is embarrassing” Arthur leered up at the Portuguese man who laughed awkwardly at the bad memory.  
“Yeah I did forget about that actually for a reason, and hey what right do you have to be annoyed my name on your phone is ‘always a slut for meringues’ I don’t even like them that much!”  
Arthur made a light humming noise as he looked deeply into his friends face “You always eat the meringues at my house, and at Italy’s, fuck it wherever you can find them”  
Portugal frowned jokingly a knowing smile still on his face “They’re my drunk food, they’re great when I’m drunk”  
“Because all you want to do is consume sugar! Remember once when Spain didn’t have any so you just started eating caster sugar, honestly it’s a miracle you’re not diabetic”  
“Argh don’t jinx it” Portugal shouted over England.  
England shook his head disbelievingly at his friends nonchalant attitude “Whatever, anyway what are you hungry for I’m feeling sushi”  
“You know I’m not huge on fish” Portugal complained.  
“Yes love I know, that’s why I’m suggesting it”  
“You ass, how about just grabbing some sandwiches, there’s a really good place near here that do amazing Prawn baguettes”  
“And how would you know that you don’t like sea food”  
“I don’t know that, I’m saying to convince you”  
“Well I’m sold let’s go!” England swung his bag over his shoulder and stuffed his thin hands into his blazer pockets.  
Besides him João just smiled, for a minute he considered taking Arthur’s hand though he was sure the other would sneer and protest in the cute way he does.  
It hadn’t been easy being dedicated to someone for almost 700 years but despite their ups and down João was still elated to just spend time in Arthur’s beautiful company, even if they’d both grown old and boring compared to their friends they had each other and in the end that was all that mattered to João, well that and his country, and his people, and food, okay he could make a list of important things that mattered to him but the point was Arthur was at the top.  
“Yeah let’s go!”

**Author's Note:**

> (Notes:  
> I like the idea of João just instantly falling in love with Arthur as soon as he sees him, and feeling torn between his beliefs and his happiness. Also the brotherly angst is real.  
> Spain was not formally known as Spain until the 19th century, for accuracies sake I’m going to refer to Spain by his name or as Castile for Medieval settings.  
> In 711 after raiding North Africa the Moors moved into conquering Iberia (or Hispania), it was the initial expansion of the Umayyad caliphate and ended up with the destruction of the Visigothic Kingdom only Northern Spain remained Christian and formed its own separate Kingdom  
> 1128 was the battle of São Mamede which saw the declaration of the first king of Portugal in 1139 after a battle with the Moors.  
> 1249 was when the full reconquest of Portuguese Iberia was achieved while it took Spain till 1492 to finish its Reconquista  
> Hermano – Brother (Sp)  
> Irmão – Brother (Pr)  
> Cambria – Latin name for Wales  
> Hibernia – Latin name for Ireland  
> Caledonia – Latin name for Scotland  
> Praxiteles – A Greek sculptor who sculpted ‘The Knidian’ Aphrodite  
> June 1509 the marriage of Catherine of Aragon to Henry the Eighth  
> Fun fact roses don’t have thorns they have prickles :)  
> 1386 The Treaty of Windsor, one of if not the oldest alliance in the world between the Kingdom’s of Portugal and England  
> 1755 The Great Lisbon earthquake, Lisbon was almost entirely flattened an estimated 9 magnitude earthquake on the Richter scale the quake lasted between 3 to 6 minutes, a tsunami struck the seaside capitol and as the waters receded knocked over candles from the all saints day celebration viciously burned the city further)
> 
> Thank you for reading :) ~ YDNWYTB


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